Chapter 8
Sweat dripped from the hitter's head and rolled down his chest, the grey t-shirt he had on darkened around the collar. Drenched curls stook to his face and neck despite his attempt to tie them up. His breathing hitched as he struggled to take in enough oxygen, the sudden spasm causing him to clench his teeth, stopping the coming scream. He was exerting himself in a way that you would think he was running a marathon, but instead, he was lying in bed lifting his leg a couple of inches off the mattress. The nerves in his leg firing pain signals despite the healed injury. He'd managed five reps before collapsing into a panting mess.
"Right, that's enough for today." The physio nurse called out as he started to move away. This was the final exercise in their daily routine. It started off simple with some basic strength and flexibility workouts on the parts that didn't have nerve damage, making sure he could still move them without any stiffness. The patient always rushed through this part wanting to get to what he deemed the 'useful' exercises. Next, they moved onto the right arm which had shown a lot of improvement these past two weeks, (not enough if you asked Eliot, but everyone else was quite pleased). He was now able to lift and move the limb but his grip was still very weak. He was reluctant to hold stuff in front of people, for fear of dropping something and embarrassing himself. And he couldn't wheel himself around yet because his right hand grew tired way too quickly to go any distance. After that, they moved onto the hitter's right leg. Progress had been slow in that area. After twenty-six days of physical therapy, he could still only just lift it a few inches. He was no longer in so much pain that he couldn't cover himself up or be touched gently in that area, but any attempt at moving the leg himself, left Eliot in a considerable amount of pain. The longer it took to improve, the less hope the Doctor had for his recovery.
"No... I can do more." The patient gasped out in between heaving breaths.
"Eliot, if you push yourself too hard, you'll end up doing more damage which will set you back even further."
"I can do it, damn it." Eliot ground out with a sharp tone causing the poor nurse to stumble back, he'd never seen Mr Krane act so aggressively. There had been a memo sent out that the patient might be experiencing some severe mood changes, but this was his first time witnessing it.
The hitter continued with the exercise despite the clear discomfort. Subtly, the nurse paged for Doctor Davis to come to the patient's room immediately. Until the medic arrived all he could do was watch as the patient's face started to pale and turn a sickly green.
"What do we have here then?" The doctor raced into the room but tried to keep his tone casual.
The nurse turned to face his colleague and spoke in a hushed tone. "He's refusing to stop with the physio against my advice. He seems pretty agitated and I wondered if a sedative might be needed."
The doctor nodded and walked over to the bed. "Eliot, I think it would be best if we stopped for the day."
"I don't want to stop... I-I can..." A sharp pain shot through his leg and travelled up into his spine. The whole limb started to spasm uncontrollably and within seconds, the hitter was losing his lunch over the side of his bed. He fell back into the bed where he was then held down by the two medics. Pained screams echoed down the hall frightening many of the staff members.
"Mr Krane, I'm going to give you a sedative just to knock you out for a short while."
Eliot nodded, his teeth biting down hard onto his lower lip causing a small stream of blood to run down his chin. He hardly felt the needle go in, too distracted by the stabs of pain that came with every spasm. He was still panting when the sedative finally dragged him under.
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When the team arrived during visiting hours the next day, Nate had already been informed about the incident. The doctor also mentioned that his 'brother' was very upset after being told that he'd been taken off of physio for a week. That would explain the face he'd been pulling the entire time they were there. After about an hour and a half of Hardison and Parker arguing over game rules, Sophie complaining about parts she'd missed out on, and Eliot completely ignoring everyone's existence, Doctor Davis came in and asked Nate if they could speak outside.
"I see the scowl is still there." The doctor chuckled but it wasn't a happy one.
"He really doesn't like being told he can't do something; he has a tendency to try and prove people wrong."
"I want to discuss with you, Eliot's living arrangements when he gets discharged from here. We're are hopeful that he can be moved to out-patients within a week."
The mastermind smiled and pushed some hair behind his ear, disguising the way he turned his com on so the team (bar Eliot) could hear. "That's great news."
"Yes. I just need to check some things first to make sure the suitable arrangements have been made." Nate nodded, expecting that Hardison would take notes. "Firstly, he needs to stay somewhere close to the hospital so he can continue to have his physio and over appointments here. Are either of you local?"
"Yes, we both actually live in an apartment complex above a restaurant our friend owns. It's about a fifteen-minute drive from here."
"You say it's above a restaurant, is there an elevator? I don't want Eliot feeling trapped because he can't get down the stairs unaided."
"Oh no," Nate threw up his arms in a placating gesture. "There's an apartment on the ground level. We'd been using it as a communal space but our friend agreed to turn one of the rooms into a private space for my brother. That way he doesn't have to move and he'll be surrounded by people he knows."
"Good." The doctor ticked something off his list. "He'll need some specialist equipment, for the time being, if you need, I can get you in touch with some suppliers."
"What kind of stuff?"
"To start with, he'll need a bed similar to the ones we have here." Nate could hear the hacker typing quickly on his keyboard. "It needs to be able to change height so he can get in his wheelchair easier, and if you could get him one that changes angles as well that would be great." The doctor paused as he looked down at his chart. "You will probably need to make alterations to one of the bathrooms, adding handrails and things like that. How close would the nearest bathroom be to the room your brother will be using?"
Nate stumbled for a second before finding his words. "Oh, uh..."
"He can use the gym, Nate." Hardison's voice rang through the coms.
"We'll be converting the gym; it already had a bathroom attached for showering so we'll just have to make some adjustments."
The doctor nodded, again checking items off his list. "You'll find there will be other bits and pieces that he'll need along the way, most you'll be able to get from the suppliers I mentioned before... Eliot does benefit greatly from using a TENS machine at night, so I suggest getting your hands on one."
Nate nodded his understanding whilst Hardison mumbled in his ear.
"Once you have all that sorted, we'll talk about getting your brother ready to leave."
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"What's with the ball?"
Parker was hanging upside down on a small metal chair, her eyes fixed on the black squishy ball that the hitter was squeezing. Eliot sighed, releasing the ball slowly before picking it up with his other hand to show it to her.
"It's part of my physio, to help improve my grip." He squoze it a couple of times with his left hand to demonstrate and then transferred it back to his right. His right hand was slow and clumsy as he continued with the therapy. It showed barely enough strength to hold an empty plastic cup. Things like writing and opening a bottle were definitely out of the question.
"I thought you were banned from physio for a week?"
Eliot glared at the mastermind sitting across the room. He was becoming extremely annoyed by this next of kin nonsense, not being able to keep any secrets from the man claiming to be his brother.
"Why?" Parker asked from her new position at the window. Sophie and Hardison also seemed eager to hear his answer.
The hitter turned away, clearly in no mood to respond. The grifter turned to her husband and gave him a look that dared him not to spill. In the end, Nate gave in, it's not like Eliot could do much to him at the moment, certainly less than Sophie could.
"He went against advice in his last session and his leg started to spasm because of it. They said he had to be sedated for a couple of hours so he wouldn't feel the pain. He's having a week off to give him time to rest and to let him think about why it's important to follow the nurse's advice." He walked over and took the ball from his teammate's weak grasp.
"Hey!" Eliot tried to reach for it, but the pull on his abused leg made him gasp. After finding a comfortable position he told Nate, "they said I was banned from my physio sessions, not the small exercises I'm supposed to do on my own."
"Fine." Nate threw the ball back and Eliot went to catch it with his right hand as an automatic response. The ball bounced off of him when he failed to close his hand in time. "Sorry."
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Back in their top floor apartment over the brewpub, Nate and Sophie were sitting together in front of their lit fireplace. The grifter was lying with her knees tucked in tight and her head resting on her husband's shoulder. It was a typical evening for them now that they'd come to their senses and returned home to their family. They'd lasted two months before realising that they couldn't be lawful citizens. And although Eliot, Parker, and Hardison were working solidly as a three-person team, they were glad to have them back.
Nate turned and planted a kiss on her head before asking, "what are you thinking about?"
Sophie looked up and smiled, since getting married she'd found it impossible to hide anything from Nate. "I'm worried about El." She twisted so she was looking into her partner's eyes.
"Anything in particular, or just a general worry?"
"What if he never fully recovers? What if he always needs our help in some way?"
"You don't want to do that?"
She shot up, almost headbutting the mastermind during the process. "Christ, Nate! No, I would always be there for him, like he has been for us. It's just..." She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I don't think he'd want to stick around if that was the case. He's a proud man, a lot of his self-worth comes from what he can offer people. The idea of having to be looked after when he feels like he has nothing to give in return probably frightens him."
"You think that's why he's been pushing so hard in his physio?"
She nodded and then added, "He's scared because he's hit a stumbling block and can't seem to get up again. Has the doctor said anything to you?"
Nate took a large swig of his whisky whilst he thought about how much he should say. "Doctor Davis mentioned that the less progress he makes in these early stages, the more likely it is that he won't fully recover." He scrubbed his face roughly, trying hard not to look into those hurt eyes sitting across from him. "Right now, he is pretty certain that Eliot will be stuck with a limp and possibly a cane for the rest of his life."
"So, he may be out of the hitter business?"
Nate nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around Sophie as they both fell into the soft cushions.
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"Oi, pipsqueak, get your ass over here." The teen stood in the kitchen looking at the tray of cookies cooling on a wire rack.
The younger boy bounced over with flour still lightly dusted on the tip of his nose. "What's up?"
"You been baking again?"
"Yeah," Spencer leaned his head back as far as it would go with a huge grin spread across his face. "Mama taught me the recipe. They ain't done yet, they need time to cool before I start icin' them, so don't touch." He scolded his much taller brother.
"Fine, but next time ask me before you start usin' the oven. Don't want the old man comin' down on me for lettin' your short ass get burnt." He rubbed the kid's hair, smirking with secret admiration.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Who's that?"
"I invited some friends over." The older boy stated.
"Arrr, but I hate your friends," he whined, brown curls bouncing as he stomped around. "They're stupid and mean, and Denny and Rick always smell like old beer and tobacco."
"Yeah, well there my friends and I'm in charge tonight, so what I say goes." The knocking continued getting louder and more obnoxious. He opened the door letting a group of similarly aged teens in. "Come in guys, sorry about the kid. I'm stuck with baby sittin' duty."
"I ain't a baby." Spencer stuck his tongue out and ran back into the kitchen.
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Forty minutes later the group wandered into the kitchen in search of snacks. When they walked in, they found the small pre-teen balancing on a chair with a yellow apron on that went all the way down to his shins. He had pink icing on his cheek and was singing along to some Dolly Parton on the radio.
"Didn't know you had a little sister." A larger teen with yellow teeth and a ketchup-stained tank top turned and spoke to Spencer's brother.
"Shut it, Denny." The kid shouted before hopping off his perch.
"Yeah Denny, best watch it or else Spencer here is gonna beat ya up with his whisk." The other boy, Rick, mocked as came to stand over him. "Why don't you just go back to decorating your cakes like the good little sissy you are." He pushed Spencer into the chair he'd just been standing on.
The kid looked up at his older brother, eyes pleading for help. The older boy just stood there with his arms crossed looking away from the scene in front of him. Spencer couldn't hold back the tears that started falling from those bright blue whirlpools.
"Gonna cry now, damn my pa would go mad if he had a fag like you as a son."
Spencer continued to look to his brother for help, but none came. He'd soon had enough, running out of his house and into a large field of corn.
"Damn it Spencer, get back here." His younger brother just ignored him and kept running.
"Just leave him. It'll be dark soon and that pansy will come runnin' home."
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Three hours later, Spencer finally came home. Outside his small one-story house, sat a police car and another black car that he knew belonged to Police Captain Richards.
"Shit!"
He opened the door, scared of what his daddy would say. What the police would say about him wasting their time. He walked slowly into the house trying to listen in on the conversation happening in the living area. He passed the kitchen; it was just how he'd left it. Was probably going to have to clean that up before bed.
Spencer quietly crept around the corner when he heard the gravelled voice of his father yelling, "Where the hell have you been?" The small boy jumped at the sudden sound, his eyes widening with shock. "Do you know what you've done boy, do you?" Spencer didn't answer, he just stood on the spot shaking with fear. Captain Richards was trying to pull his father back but his hands were latched onto the kid's arms. "Why'd you have to do it? Why'd you have to kill your Mum and Eliot?"
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Eliot shot up, chest aching from the pounding of his heart against its walls. He scrubbed a hand across his face, removing it when he felt the tears still pouring from his eyes. It had been a while since he had that dream, years of self-abuse had blocked it out. The guilt never quite left him though.
He sat there for a moment looking into the darkness of his empty life before falling back into the mattress, his body curling up into a tight ball. He didn't care about the pain it caused him, in his mind he deserved it. People like him deserved to hurt, after all, all he ever did was ruin things. First his family, then his father, and even all these years later he was screwing up his team. Why should he get a comfy life with the people he loved? He was a murderer, in so many ways.
He was starting to hyperventilate as the pain mixed with the heavy crying prevented his lungs from contracting at a steady rate. If he hadn't disconnected his monitor, a team of medical staff would have raced in there ages ago. But instead, he would be left to deal with the pain, even die maybe, he didn't care either way.